


Duo Familiars

by Inkblooded_Witch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cannon-Grade Violence/Gore, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mage! Sam, Magic AU, Mentions of Drug Use (Weed Only), OC deaths, Owl Familiar! Castiel, Smut, Swearing, Team Free Will Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Twosomes Only, Wolf Familiar! Dean, polygamous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblooded_Witch/pseuds/Inkblooded_Witch
Summary: It’s highly irregular to have more than one Familiar, but then Sam Winchester never proscribed to normality. Besides, it’s no more irregular than being in a relationship with your Familiar, or for your Familiar to be your brother, providing the two are different people. It makes Castiel’s being with Dean seem downright normal. However unorthodox their lifestyle, even for mages and Familiars, they are content. Anyone or anything that threatens that contentedness never meets a merciful end. A point they have to make abundantly clear when they are waylaid by another mage-Familiar pair on the road.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Team Free Will Big Bang: Collection 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for the Team Free Will Big Bang Collection: 2020.  
> Every piece of amazing art created for this story was done by the talent of [MidnightSilver.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen)  
> You can check out their post [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26408269)  
> 

Castiel disliked hotels. He knew Dean didn’t much like them either, and he was perpetually irked by his brother’s lack of care on the matter. They were something of an occupational hazard in their line of work at times, so they tried to make the best of it. When they’d first been starting out, they’d stayed in motels and cheap hotels as much for necessity as by choice. When you were just getting a career of the ground, it made more sense financially to travel below your means. They still traveled wisely, but every now and then they splurged.

Personally, Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever truly enjoy staying in a hotel. But now that they occasionally spoiled themselves, he found the experience more…palatable. He felt very much the ungrateful Familiar for it, though. This trip, for example, was inducing an odd blend of unsettledness and guilt.

It was his animal side that disliked nesting away from home. All the smells, the sounds, the unfamiliarity of it, it was discomforting an instinctive level. Naturally neither of the brothers suffered from this. Particularly on a ‘splurge’ trip. Dean turned into an insufferable pup whenever they ended up somewhere that put chocolates on the pillows, and gods forbid they have an indoor pool. Apparently the scents were more good ones than not, sanitation standards were better, so he minded far less, Castiel just wished he wouldn’t be so damned obnoxious about it. At least Sam was more subtle in his enjoyment, particularly on the lucky occasion they got an upgrade at check in.

This was their last day in Montana, they were due to check out later in the morning, after Sam went to make sure their work was done.

As comfortable as the king-sized bed was, Castiel was still a light sleeper prone to tossing about even after he fell asleep. So when Sam carefully disentangled himself from the nest of limbs and sheets and pillows, the Familiar was wide awake before he made the bed’s edge. He helpfully reached over, finding one of Dean’s ankles and lifting his leg enough for Sam to get his own out from under.

The taller man shot him a grateful look in the dim light as he stumbled upright, but he grinned when Dean rolled over, grumbling in his sleep and throwing an arm over Castiel’s waist. He deliberately shimmied and wiggled until he was free, crawling from the bed as Sam went into the bathroom. He joined him, quietly closing the door and flipping on a light as he went to splash cold water onto his face.

“Going for a run, want to come?”

Castiel considered this, then shook his head. “Haven’t stretched my wings much since we got here. I’ll fly.”

Dean thought they were nuts, running by choice when nothing was chasing them. Castiel had taken it up as an outlet, his homelife hadn’t been quite as bearable as theirs had been growing up, but Sam was solidly in the ‘health nut’ category. Apparently Castiel was different enough he was just branded ‘hippie’. An explanation hadn’t been forthcoming as of yet.

They quietly went about their business, never getting in each other’s way and trying not to wake Dean. It was hard to do, unlike them the elder Winchester was not a morning person, but they did make an effort. Otherwise he’d be surly about it all day.

Both were clad in running gear when they slipped out of the room, taking an elevator downstairs and walking through the hotel’s lobby. This particular hotel apparently hosted conventions and conferences on a regular basis, so it was rather large, sprawling, surrounded by a golf course and home to a selection of ballrooms. This meant it also had a wonderful selection of paths to jog on, which many guests took advantage of.

Once outside, Sam set out at a steady pace, and Castiel stepped to the side. It was second nature, letting his other half take over. In this shape he closest resembled a great horned owl, if one with unusual pigmentation. He had the size, frame, and ‘horns’, but rather than camouflage his plumage was dark gray or matte black, his wide eyes vivid cobalt. From wingtip to wingtip he measured twenty-eight inches at his last physical, stood an inch over two feet from talons to feathered plumes, but his weight was just under three pounds.

Feathers sprouted from flesh, bones shrinking and bending, his nose and mouth melting into a single hooked shape, his feet contorting. The process took mere seconds, and then he was off, flapping skyward. He found a nice current to ride a hundred odd feet from the ground, gliding overhead, keeping an eye on the lanky figure below.

It felt good to fly again. Some jobs required him to take his owl shape, others did not. This job had not, though Dean had been doing quite a bit of running. Likely why he was sleeping so much.

Sam might be recognized as odd by the magical community as a whole, but he’d been steadily chipping away at the wall they’d attempted to put up. He hadn’t just made it into Stanford University of Magecraft on a full scholarship, he’d graduated with top honors and a 4.0 GPA. He’d since set about making a name for himself as someone reliable and very good at what he did. After a point, gossip about bloodlines and complaints about unorthodox methods only went so far. Besides, Sam himself was very likeable. So was Dean, when he chose to be. Castiel knew he was standoffish, he did try but sometimes he couldn’t help it. For Sam’s sake he made a continuous effort.

They’d done well, he thought. They had a nice little house in Lebanon, Kansas, on an acre of land, just shy of suburbia. They grew most of the plants and herbs Sam needed for his workings, Castiel kept bees and sold the honey, Dean had a garage nearly as large as their house where he worked on restorations. They took jobs wherever they could find them, big or small, providing they were within Sam’s reach. He specialized in an assortment of applications, but technically his major had been in ambient magic, his minor in combat magic. Granted the minor had been more for practicality than for work, he turned down offers as a battle mage with increasing regularity, but it was very handy when a person or a creature took offense to them.

Castiel glided down for a landing when Sam slowed to a walk as he finished a circuit of the hotel, cooling down on his way back in. He fluttered his wings when he got in close, then shifted back to his human form mid-air. His running shoes hit the red cobbled walkway as he landed in a crouch, straightening. He shook out his arms, pleasantly warm and weary, then feel in step with Sam.

“Do you think he’s up yet?”

Sam glanced at his watch. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, hair damp with sweat, mesh shirt streaked with it. Montana or not, it was still July. “Maybe. Hope not. If he calls me Neil Armstrong _one_ _more time…”_

Castiel snickered, ignoring the look Sam shot him. “You realize his primary objective is your irritation?”

“Knowing it doesn’t make it less annoying.”

Deciding to change the subject, he asked, “Do you want us to come with you to check the farm?”

Local pests, ranging from moths to rats to weasels, had been plaguing a farm’s wheat crop. They’d put off getting protections and wards re-applied to the point where whoever did it would have to start from scratch, hence their being here for several days. Not to mention the extra cost a working would entail. But the loss of product had apparently galvanized them into action, to the point where they didn’t even argue about travel expenses. Sam was meant to be one of the best, after all. If given the time and resources to do it properly, he could set a specific ward against each pest so deep into the very ground that they would keep everything out entirely for a solid five years.

These jobs alone funded their travel splurges. Once clients had used him once, particularly farmers, they were reluctant to settle for subpar workings again. Both Dean and Castiel were very proud.

“I’ll just be doing a walk-around, finalizing payment,” Sam shrugged as they circled an outdoor pool. “It’ll be boring. Go for a swim or something.”

“We didn’t bring swim trunks, and I would rather Dean not ignore that during the day.”

Sam grimaced. “Right. Forgot.”

When they got back to the room Dean was awake and stepping out of a steamy bathroom, their suitcases on the bed. He made a face at the sight of a still sweaty Sam, wrinkling his nose. Castiel saw it coming, hurridly skirting the bed and making to intercept him.

“Hit the showers, Ne- “

Castiel grabbed him the open sides of his flannel shirt, yanking him into a rough kiss. Dean gave a grunt of surprise, then grinned as Sam groaned in despair behind them. As they parted, he complained, “Don’t encourage him!”

“I like this _so_ much better than being smothered with a pillow,” Dean stated, grinning cheekily.

“I’ll bet you do,” Sam grumbled, stepping out of his shoes and going into the bathroom.

As the door shut Dean eyed Castiel, who’s arms were now draped over his shoulders. “You didn’t run too?”

“I flew. Can’t you smell it?” It made no sense to him, but supposedly his scent was different if he’d recently been in his feathered form. His own sense of smell was well enough, but it had nothing on Dean’s. It was one of the many ways they complemented each other. Even in his human form, his senses of sight and hearing were more acute. As a wolf Familiar, Dean’s sense of smell was virtually unparalleled.

Dean considered, hands absently settling on Castiel’s hips as he leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing the side of his neck. “Yeah, it’s there. No trouble?”

“No trouble.” Non-Familiars avoided them, but other Familiars could be territorial.

“How long do you think he’s going to be?”

“Not long enough.”

Dean made a face. Castiel chuckled, giving him a gentler kiss than the previous before pulling away. He gathered clean clothes for himself, slipping into the bathroom.

Sam was turning on the water, barefoot and stripped to the waist. Castiel set his clothes on the counter, toeing out of his own running shoes and peeling off his socks. When he straightened, he grunted in surprise when a mouth came down over his, a hand cupping the back of his neck.

When they parted he complained, “How is it you two are jealous in the most annoying, non-destructive fashions?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Are you going to wait until I’m clean just to sully me again?”

“Sully is a really strong word.”

Castiel scoffed, shoving him towards the large shower stall. “You first. Don’t waste all the hot water.”

He pointedly ignored the mage as he stepped out of his clothes, taking out his shaving things. He took his sweet time about it, washing his face after, to the point Sam was stepping out as he patted his face dry. He ruffled his long hair with a towel, drying himself off as the Familiar stripped off clothes that smelled, in his opinion, a bit too much like feathers. Worse than sweat.

When he turned around, he found himself face-to-neck with a freshly scrubbed mage.

“Better?”

“Do you have time?”

“Always.”

So saying, he proceeded to pick up the Familiar and set him on the counter, squarely between dual sinks. Being manhandled was an unusual phenomena when you were a solid six feet in your socks, but it was one he rather enjoyed, providing it was only one of two people doing it. Not that he ever told them as much, the smug bastards.

Once he was perched, Castiel draped his arms over broad shoulders, running one hand up into damp hair as Sam’s mouth slanted over his own. He heard a hand feeling around the counter, making him crack a smile despite Sam’s other hand now gripping the back of his neck. He did glance over when they came up for air, raising his brows when he saw what the mage had come up with.

“Hotel lotion? Really?” he muttered, arching up into another kiss.

“If it helps, pretend it’s motel lotion.”

“How does that help?” Castiel demanded, even as he hitched his hips up a bit, hooking a leg around Sam’s waist. “Do motels even have lotion?”

“Dunno. But it gets you off.”

Castiel chose not to dignify that with a response. At least Sam was the last person in the world to kink shame. One of his assorted good qualities.

His forehead was resting on one broad shoulder, breath coming in soft pants as a third finger slid inside him when an impatient fist pounded on the bathroom door.

“Occupied!” Sam called.

“Tell me you ain’t doing what I think you’re doing,” Dean complained.

To Castiel’s dismay, Sam abruptly thrust three long digits, mouth latching onto a nipple with sharp suction, the combined effect triggering a gasping moan before he could stifle it. He glared down at Sam, who eased up on the suction. He traced a pebbling areola with the tip of his tongue, then slowly pulled away, heated eyes staring up at him. His breath hitched, cock twitching.

“I’m getting breakfast, just don’t be late to the damn job.”

“So grumpy, you should fix that,” Sam muttered, slowly withdrawing his fingers. “After I’m done with you.”

“Really?” Castiel asked archly as the outer door slammed shut.

“Really.”

Maybe he would have turned the mage away for that comment, but they’d come too far for him to want to stop. So he shelved it for later payback, burying his face in Sam’s neck and taking a deep breath of his scent as he rolled his hips forward. As they became one, Castiel felt their bond spark. The bond that bound a mage and their Familiar lit up like a string of electric lights, raw input ricocheting back and forth between them.

Every movement, every touch, every breathless kiss became amplified twofold. Memories not his own flashed under his lids. Drawing sigils and trailing spelled cord around a wheat field under a noon sun. Looking up at a jet-black owl riding air currents overhead as he ran along a path. Smiling at the nice receptionist giving him room keys. Stroking the cheek of a sleeping owl Familiar that had dozed off in their backseat, carefully draping a discarded trench coat over him rather than wake him before going inside a gas station. That particular memory held so much tender affection Castiel felt compelled to kiss him with enough passion to make him growl.

The bond certainly made making love interesting. Or fucking. Or anything in between, really. They’d figured out how to manage it, block it, but didn’t often make the effort. There was a closeness to it they both reveled in. At least it was just between them, since there were two separate bonds Dean wasn’t in the loop, though if he was paying attention he could tell when they were intimate.

Castiel dug his fingers into bulging back and shoulder muscles, both heels hooked around for leverage, breath coming in ragged pants as he felt them both nearing that precarious edge. One hand gripped his thigh hard enough he’d likely have a bruise, which was more of a turn-on than he’d ever admit, the other arm was wrapped around him, doubling their leverage. It was everything short of jamming him against a wall and oh gods he loved it.

When he crested that peek his cry was devoured, trembling body held tight by a lover that never stopped moving. He rode out the orgasm, body gradually going from ridged to limp. It took a few more minutes for Sam to find his own release, not that Castiel minded. It meant there was something besides jelly for him to stand on when they finally parted.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then slowly sat up. The flesh of his shoulders peeled away from the mirror he’d been braced against, leaving imprints amid a still steam-covered surface. He carefully slid off the counter as Sam lurched away, bracing a hand by a sink.

“Do us all a favor, don’t gloat,” he stated, trying to sound as though he hadn’t just been fucked in a hotel bathroom.

“I never gloat, that’s Dean’s bag.”

“He gloats verbally in that infuriating fashion of his. You also gloat in an infuriating fashion, just not verbally. It’s something I tolerate because I love you both dearly, but it would be nice if you could be cordial when I arrive at breakfast.”

“I don’t gloat,” Sam repeated, sounding a bit miffed.

“Not with words. Body language is everything, and the smile doesn’t help.”

“What smile?”

Castiel went to turn the water back on, then doubled back to turn Sam’s face towards the mirror. “That smile.” He kissed his cheek, then stepped under a warming stream of water.

“It’s your fault,” the mage complained.

“This from the man with outstanding self-control.”

He thought he heard some more grumbling, but nothing specific. Sam was gone when he got out. When Castiel went downstairs he found them at a table just outside a café that served breakfast. He was pleasantly surprised to see they’d already ordered for him, the coffee still hot.

Dean nudged a chair out for him with a booted foot, bowed legs splayed lazily, empty plate in front of him. Castiel seated himself, placing a napkin in his lap. “Do I want to know how much bacon you went through?”

“Probably not.”

He peeked between the split croissant, deciding he liked the assortment of eggs, bacon, and cheese. He took a bite, then glanced down at the bag propped against Sam’s seat. Every mage had their own work kit, and rarely went without it. Sam’s was a shoulder bag, currently resting where he’d know if anyone was dumb enough to go near it.

“Going straight out?”

“Yeah, sooner I’m done sooner we can head home.”

Castiel took a sip of his coffee, watching Sam work his way through an omelet as Dean flicked through a newspaper on his tablet. He took his time, assessing one brother then the other. As he set his mug back in its saucer and went back to his breakfast sandwich he stated, “I think you need to recheck the definition for ‘cordial’.”

Both of them gave him all too innocent looks.

“What about cordial?” Dean asked, picking up his own coffee mug.

“After all this time do you really think I can’t tell when you fight?”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Sam sighed.

“Strong disagreement.”

They exchanged a look, then Sam cleared his throat. “How would you feel about Beartooth?”

“Beartooth Highway?”

“If I go, I ain’t gonna make ‘the most beautiful drive in America’ in anything besides my Baby.”

“We’ve never been near the area during the months it’s open before,” Sam protested. “It’s not far out of our way, we’ve all wanted to do it at some point, this is our chance. I don’t have another job scheduled for another week.”

Well, it was nice they were arguing about something original this time.

Castiel let them go back and forth until he finished his breakfast, then sat back in his seat to sip what was left of his coffee. He waited until they lapsed into silence, glaring at each other across the table. He chose that point to ask innocently, “Would it make you feel better to run the most beautiful drive in America? Since the Impala is currently unavailable.”

The brothers Winchester finally turned to look at him again.

“What?”

“Run it?” Dean echoed, brows furrowed.

Checking his phone, where he’d made sure he had the right details, Castiel noted, “It’s sixty-eight miles, if you’re well fed and well rested you can cover that ground in a day. It can certainly be driven or flown, even if we stick to the road’s path. It’s not terribly out of our way, and I would like to see it myself. And unless I’m mistaken, covering Beartooth in a day without aid of a vehicle warrants bragging rights among our kind. We don’t come out here often, true, but assuming Ms. Jackson is remotely reasonable she’ll want you back in five years. She’s very much a talker, if she’s so inclined she’ll tell other farmers in this area who warded her fields. Meaning we’ll be coming back out here in less than five years. When that happens, we can bring Baby and you can drive it then.”

He’d had a long time to master the art of managing the brothers. Yet they still seemed surprised when he did it. Granted his solutions weren’t always so balanced, but it was always nice when they were.

“So we’d…what? Head east today, rest up, run it tomorrow?” Dean asked. Their current client might be a farmer, but her land was near enough a large city they’d been able to stay there. It also happened to be large enough to warrant this sort of hotel.

“That would work.”

Castiel smiled into his coffee, watching ruffled feathers settle from beneath his lashes.

He knew it shouldn’t, but it bothered him on some level that their own community considered them outcasts. For all they’d made headway in building relations once Sam was out of school, there would forever be the stodgy folk that would ensure they’d never be allowed fully back into the international world of magic. He’d grown up never being enough, part of why his elder brother was the only one he ever spoke to these days. Naomi had written him off long before he’d committed not one but two of her taboos. Gabriel just thought he got more awesome with every infraction.

A mage was never meant to have more than one Familiar. A mage most definitely was never meant to be intimate with their Familiar. The second rule was broken more often than even the Magic Council would ever admit, or the N.B.M.A. for that matter, but it was a thing you were meant to keep quiet. For what it was worth, they’d tried. But the rule about never making family your Familiar had been one Castiel hadn’t been aware of until he’d heard traditionalists wailing.

To be fair, they were well within all legal boundaries, human or otherwise. Sam and Dean didn’t even stray beyond an ironclad bromance. Granted they were closer than most siblings, even before their Familiar bond, but that was mostly due to their upbringing. Turbulent, in part simply because they themselves were taboos. They’d never had a chance, born of a mage mother and Familiar father.

Human police had confirmed the fire that took both parents from them was caused by magic, but forensics hadn’t been able to trace the caster. Sam had been six months old, Dean had been four. They’d been raised by Bobby Singer, a family friend, and more a parent to Castiel than his own mother. They’d grown up across the street from the Novak’s, Sam and Dean were the first friends an awkward child had ever made. The longest, too. Even after they hit high school and Naomi banned him from seeing the scandalous offspring.

After he graduated, Castiel spent five years scraping together a living working at a Gas-N’-Sip to compensate for what his scholarship to a community college wouldn’t cover. It had been worth it, when he’d gotten a degree. He’d been planning for CPA certification when Dean had showed up on his doorstep one night. They’d kept in contact once Castiel was free of his family, but he’d still been stuck in Illinois, and the Winchester’s had been equally anchored in California. He’d known Sam had graduated and landed his licensure, but hadn’t been able to do more than send a card and congratulate him over Skype. Dean had driven halfway across the damn country in the Impala to, as he put it, “Bring you back to where you belong.”

It was the first time he’d had an inkling his childhood crushes might be returned. He’d hated himself for that since hormones had kicked in, unwilling to ruin the best friendships he’d ever had and feeling selfish for loving not one but two of the most wonderful people he’d ever known. Besides, they’d dated over the years, so had he, not that it ever came of it. Particularly after Meg. The nursing student was still his best friend outside the brothers, and helped him come to terms with just how not heterosexual he was. Sam had been intrigued when they’d discussed such things down the road, but after grumbling something akin to affirmation of his bisexuality Dean had chosen to burry himself in a bottle of whisky. His younger brother hadn’t given thought to it, but he thought pansexual suited him best. He also agreed that demisexual suited Castiel.

Within the space of three days, Castiel had packed up what little he had to his name and moved to California. Part of a mage’s licensure of the caliber Sam had secured required a Familiar, the perfect excuse to get Castiel back to their side. He didn’t find that part out until after a bond was made, tying him to Sam, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Particularly after he felt, saw, what the mage thought of him. Any concern or guilt he’d nursed over his newly forged relationship with Dean evaporated, though they were reamed for scheming and not just telling him.

It took roughly six months before Sam took Dean as his second Familiar. The idea had been knocked around, but the bond itself had been made in an emergency situation. They’d taken a routine exorcism across state, but it had gone wrong, their intel had been off. Castiel had stayed at their newly obtained home in Kansas, trying to display commitment in a position he needed for experience before he could sit for licensure. He’d felt it, a jolt through their bond when another had been forged. When he’d finally gotten someone to pick up their cell phone, Dean had sworn they were both perfectly fine. It was just they hadn’t expected to be dealing with six very strong, very pissed off children spirits.

At least they’d had an extra excuse for Dean to be living with them after that. Even if that extra excuse meant they were officially blacklisted by the magical world’s elite. One of the few times he’d tried talking to an old contact Castiel had lost his temper, asking if they’d really wished they’d chosen to die rather than bond to survive. To his outrage, they’d told him yes.

Meg had been the one to mention it was as much fear as anything else. Sadly, this made sense once he thought about it. The whole point of having a Familiar was to have a partner, someone to help you as you helped them. A mage bound to a Familiar could work bigger spells, their counterpart acting as flint to spark and strengthen their power. A Familiar in turn would share their extended lifespan and have more power of their own. Speed, strength, endurance, all were enhanced, even senses were sharpened. But to have two Familiars? Not only were most unwilling to share, but to manage them without conflict was a delicate thing. Never mind the power involved if you could successfully put it off.

There was conflict aplenty, but not in a way that hindered them.

That had been six years ago. They’d since moved to a slightly larger house with more land to work with. Neighbors found them odd, but unobtrusive. Castiel was still a CPA, but only part time and his clients were all dealt with remotely. He sold his honey at the local farmers market, Dean restored old cars for people who had money to throw at that sort of thing, all of this allowed them the flexibility to travel with Sam when needed.

Theirs was hardly a conventional arrangement, granted, but it worked. Castiel was happy. He had work he enjoyed, he got to tend bees he adored, and he lived with the two people he loved most in this world.

He was wallowing in his contentedness when Sam excused himself, shouldering his kit and heading out to check the farm. Castiel finished his coffee, then he and Dean went back to their room. He’d intended to start packing, and had honestly not given any thought to shenanigans until arms twined around his waist from behind. He was pulled flush against Dean, shoulders pressing to his chest.

“How long do you think he’s going to be this time?” Dean muttered against his neck, which he was already kissing.

Castiel raised his brows slightly, but couldn’t bring himself to argue. He did try to keep things balanced between the brothers, avoiding anything that might be construed as favoritism. They were their own people, two individuals whom be loved profoundly, and needed to be treated as such.

“Long enough.” Looking at the luggage lining the bed’s foot, he sighed, “Shame you’ve already started packing.”

Dean snorted, pulling him around to the nearest bedside. “It’s a damn king, Cas, there’d be room if we packed Sam’s closet. Even if it wasn’t, when has something like space ever stopped us?”

Well, he did have a point. Not that Castiel had the chance to state as much. He was shoved backwards onto the bed, and the moment his feet were no longer on the hotel carpet he was pantsed in a single, fluid motion. When he propped himself up on the elbows it was to see Dean hurridly shucking his own clothes. He peeled a clean t-shirt over his own head, tossing it aside and rolling onto one hip so he could reach into an outer pocket of the nearest suitcase.

“How’d you know I already packed it?” Dean complained, hopping on one foot as he yanked off his jeans.

“You would pout the whole way home if we forgot it,” Castiel informed him lightly, rolling onto his back again, jar in hand. Sam might deal with most of the potions and salves, but he himself dabbled in a bit more than just honey. After some trial and error, and one too many disasters with store-bought lubes, he’d made his own. There were others they liked, but in general his personal blend was favored.

“I do _not_ pout,” Dean stated, crawling onto the bed with him.

“Yes, you do,” the owl hummed, unscrewing the jar. When Dean’s brow began to furrow in earnest, he leaned up to peck the tip of his nose. Just as good as a boop.

“Shut up.”

Castiel just smiled, helpfully planting a foot near the bed’s edge to give him space to work in. He reached up with one hand, pressing a palm to Dean’s cheek. Stroking a freckled temple with his thumb. Drawing him into a kiss as fingers dipped into their jar. This one was softer than the last, slower. To be shared, intimate, rather than to force someone quiet.

It had been a while since he’d been intimate with either of the brothers, likely why they were both so eager to jump his bones in a hotel suite. He counted backwards as fingers covered in warm lube worked him open, a process expedited by his previous activities. His last time with Sam had been, what, nearly a month ago? If you didn’t count that blowjob in the mage’s workshop it was the evening following their last farmers market run, which…was almost three weeks ago. Damn. And Dean, gods it’d been just as long and there hadn’t been any blowjobs. Just one coitus interruptus a fortnight ago when boy scouts had come around selling popcorn. They’d been slipping, he’d have to remedy that.

The owl had just decided to arrange date nights upon their return, which were just as overdue and ended in sex half the time anyway, when Dean withdrew his fingers. Turning his full attention back to his lover, he hooked his hands over broad shoulders and put a leg over his waist. His calf braced on the small of Dean’s back, his other foot still planted, making it very easy for the wolf to line himself up.

Dean bent to kiss him, swallowing his soft keen as he rocked his hips forward. He freed a hand from its clutching position, dipping his fingertips into the lube jar before sliding it between them as the wolf set a steady, rolling pace. A low growl, accompanied by an abrupt snap of Dean’s hips, rumbled in his ear as he started stroking his own cock in tandem with his lover’s thrusts.

His head dropped back, spine arching on the bed when Dean’s head dipped, neck craning so he could reach the shorter man’s nipples. Castiel gasped aloud, grip tightening as a rough tongue swiped over first one, then the other. The tip of that same tongue set about tormenting him, slowly tracing an areola, stroking the hardening nub at its center, teeth closing over it ever so lightly. His now lube-covered hand abandoned his cock, and he brushed the pad of a thumb over one of Dean’s in turn. Sam didn’t much care for this, it didn’t do much for him, but his and Dean’s were more sensitive. Ergo, a prime target when you were trying to shove the other off that wonderous cliff edge into orgasm.

There was no bond this time, no magical connection that melded them beyond body. It wasn’t needed, in his opinion. He valued Dean no less than Sam, and making love was no less intense. They moved as one, teasing, taunting, rolling back and forth as one would flip them to try and gain a bit of leverage before the other reversed them again. Heated touches on burning flesh, breathless kisses between gasping lips, fingers fisting in sheets in desperate attempts to anchor onto something, anything. At one point, Castiel wasn’t sure how, Dean had gotten him onto his belly and had flung pillows from the bed when he tried to burry his face in them to muffle sounds he was incapable of keeping quiet. He’d returned the favor when he’d had the opportunity, straddling the wolf’s waist and pinning his wrists to the bed as he milked his cock. He had let up, of course, but only after he’d dragged out some equally embarrassing sounds.

Later, as they lay in the afterglow, Castiel muttered, “Who will be repacking?”

“Huh?”

Castiel waved vaguely towards the bed’s foot, then let his hand drop back to the sheets. Their suitcases had been knocked to the floor at some point, though it had just sent them into giggle fits at the time. The blankets had been kicked off the bed, the sheets mussed and tangled around them. Sex wasn’t always so disruptive, but it could be, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t oddly fun when that happened.

“Not gonna do it,” Dean grumbled, tugging up the sheets as they started to cool down.

“Your fault.”

“You helped.”

Castiel rolled onto his side, snagging two pillows off the hotel carpet and dragging them back up onto the bed. He stuffed one under his head, and flopped the other over Dean’s face. He grunted, grabbing the pillow and smacking it over Castiel’s face in turn. The owl huffed, shoving it away. When he made to fling it across the room, Dean snatched it back and jammed it under his head with a huff.

“If I bribe you, will you repack the suitcases?”

“Depends on the bribe.”

“There’s pie on the room service menu.”

“Subpar pie for double the price?” Dean scoffed. “Don’t think so, Cas.”

“I would offer oral sex, but you’ll need at least half an hour before you’re up for that and you’d need to clean up first.”

The wolf groaned, rubbing his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. “No way I’ll be up for that before Sammy comes back. Why can’t you just pack the damn suitcases?”

“Because whenever I do it you complain about things being wrinkled. Besides, you’re better at it.”

“You just don’t like dealing with it.”

“That too.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

“I never win.”

“That’s your own fault.”

Dean’s response was to roll over, flopping across the other Familiar, making them both grunt. Castiel huffed, then scowled down at him. “What are you, the family dog?”

That got him a very convincing grumble, before Dean began to curl around him.

“My mistake. Family cat?”

This time Dean just sat up enough to give him a deadpan look.

Unable to help a grin, Castiel reached up to tap the tip of his nose with the pad of his index finger. “Boop.”

He yanked his hand away from the wolf’s halfhearted snap, still grinning as Dean dropped back down again.

“You realize if we’re not packed when Sam gets back he’ll be annoyed, yes?”

“As long as we’re out by checkout,” Dean sighed.

Castiel reached over, turning the bedside clock a bit so he could check the digital numbers. “What would you like to do in the meantime?”

“Nap?”

“Is that a testament to your age or my ability?”

Despite the fact Dean decided he now had to smother the owl, they both started giggling like schoolboys which made it entirely ineffective.

In the end they settled on raiding what was left of their snack stash and channel surfing. They even managed to do it without leaving the bed, which Castiel felt they shouldn’t be as proud of as they were. The remote had been easy enough to reach, it was next to the clock. Their snack bag was a bit harder. Dean, who had an extra few inches of reach, ended up bracing a hand on the floor so he could snag the reusable bag and drag it over.

“Does this make us lazy?” Castiel asked absently, chewing on a ding-dong. One of the last two in the box.

Dean shrugged, shaking the last of their Cheetos into his mouth with one hand and muting their TV with the other. They’d found a James Bond movie, but it had gone on commercial. “Nah. So long as you don’t do it often.”

The wolf was licking cheese powder from his fingers when a phone buzzed. Castiel craned his neck, looking at the bedside table opposite the one with a clock. Both their phones had gotten a text. He half rolled over, snagging his and settling back against Dean’s side as he opened the lock screen.

_Sam (9:21): Done with the farm, heading back to the hotel. You guys packed?_

“Should I lie?”

Dean looked at the message. “Checkout ain’t due until ten, right?”

“Yes, but I think it would be best if we could leave sooner before later. Especially if we don’t know where we’ll be spending the night yet.”

“Why are you two so damn practical?” Dean complained.

“Someone must be. Adulting is tedious, but the results are preferable to those we’d deal with if we didn’t.”

“You’re gonna put me to sleep, Cas,” the wolf whined.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel reluctantly left the bed. He lurched to his feet, stumbling a few steps before shuffling to the bathroom. He cleaned himself up, then came back out to get dressed. Dean grudgingly followed suit, and they moved their suitcases back onto the bed. Despite earlier protests, Castiel was shooed away after two failed attempts at ‘properly’ folding a shirt. He packed up their toiletries instead, leaving them within reach so Dean could slot them in as he saw fit. He tided up their mess as best he could, packed their personal bags, then sat in the desk chair with his phone.

This was how Sam found them when he let himself into the room. He raised a brow at the bed, then looked at the bags Dean was zipping closed. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think the season has really picked up yet,” Castiel announced, glancing up from his phone. “There’s a few options left for tonight. I can book something now, or we can take our chances with a motel.”

“What kind of options?” Sam asked, shifting his mage’s kit on his shoulder

“Two queens at a three star hotel right by where we’d need to be, but if you don’t mind driving an extra half hour to the starting point and paying an extra fifty dollars I can get us another king at a five star.”

“Just book the two queens,” Dean sighed. “What about on the other end of the highway?”

“Haven’t gotten their yet.” Standing slowly, he said at length, “Let me book this, I’ll find something for us the next night in the car.”

By the time they made the elevator he’d booked the room. Pocketing his phone, he took the larger suitcase from Dean along with their car keys, going to load up the Charger with Sam while Dean checked them out. The elder Winchester was stepping out through the automatic doors when Sam pulled around, hopping into the passenger seat.

“Cooke City is smaller, and it’s right outside Yellowstone,” Castiel muttered from the backseat as they pulled away from the hotel. “Shame we can’t stay longer. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s gonna have to be next time- fine!”

Castiel’s mouth twitched in a smile as Dean sulkily buckled his seatbelt, silencing the Charger’s nagging. He returned to his search, regretting they didn’t have more time to devote to national parks this trip. But then they’d also get more out of it if they planned ahead and prepared accordingly. Besides, they all had engagements they needed to get home for. His bees needed tending, and there was a farmer’s market coming up this weekend. Sam had a number of local appointments he’d committed to already, several of whom were regulars. Putting them off would be bad for business, especially if it wasn’t an emergency. In three day’s time Dean was scheduled to meet with a potential client about restoring some rust heap or another. No, they hall had commitments, Yellowstone would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

They made it to Red Lodge before sunset. Dean disliked interstates, despite their efficiency. While they were glad to enjoy the scenic route, when they felt the need to reach a place in a timely fashion neither Sam nor Castiel were so picky. Though Castiel suspected his disapproval was as much due to boredom as anything else. Dean spent over half that day’s journey dozing in the backseat with Led Zeppelin playing on headphones.

Since he’d been the one to make reservations, Castiel checked them in at the front desk. When he came back out into the covered area outside the lobby, he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of his partners. He tried not to smile, but it was hard not to. Impossible, really.

As their friend, lover, Familiar, whatever you wished to call him, he knew they were utter softies underneath gruff exteriors. Particularly in Dean’s case. It was something lots of people in the magical community would be shocked to discover. While he knew it was essentially a survival mechanism, Castiel enjoyed witnessing this side of them.

He hadn’t been inside the hotel long. There had been no line at the time, so it had only taken five minutes or so. At some point during his short absence, an elderly couple had begun trying to load up their car. Why they didn’t have a bellman Castiel wasn’t sure, but they’d wheeled out a luggage cart to their vehicle and, he assumed, had been having difficulty loading it up. A tiny old lady and frail looking old man with a stoop and a cane were in the process of thanking the brothers and chattering at them as they wrestled what looked like heavy bags into their trunk.

“Oh, we came up from there yesterday,” the old woman was saying, beaming up at the brothers.

“Yeah? What’d you think?” Sam unhooked the two CPAP machines from where they’d been hanging on the cart, slotting them in on top of larger bags.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” she assured them. “We try to come up here every year now, since we’re both retired. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

Frank bobbed his head, muttering what sounded like affirmations, then she was off again.

“The grandchildren have gotten older, and we’re not getting any younger. We’ve been to every national park in the world, you know. They’re all so lovely, but now that we’ve seen the natural wonders, we want to see the urban wonders. Isn’t that right, Frank? We’re flying out to Tokyo next month. Oh we still use the airstream, but it’s not good for crossing oceans, you know.”

Dean slammed their trunk shut, stepping back. “You’re all set, ma’am.”

“Thank you, both. You didn’t have to do that. You’re such kind young men.”

Trying very hard to school his features into something not a smile, Castiel resumed his previous course, walking back over to them. Dean looked glad to see him, and while Sam’s relief wasn’t blatant he felt a wave of it through their bond. Resigning himself to being the rescue party, Castiel announced, “We’re checked in.”

“Are the three of you traveling together?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dean grabbed the papers from him, one of which had their room number on it and which side of the hotel it was in. “We gatta get going.” He shoved the paper at Sam, going to get back into the Charger. “It was nice meeting you.”

Castiel inclined his head politely, following suit as Frank’s thanks was nearly drowned out by his wife’s wishing them a safe trip.

As they pulled out from under the overhang, in search of a parking space, he asked, “No good deed goes unpunished, I presume?”

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the headrest. “You saw ‘em, they looked like a good breeze would knock ‘em over. If I’d known she was a damn mage I would have let them be.”

“Mage?” How old _were_ they, then? He’d thought they were in their eighties, but then age guessing had never been his strong suit.

It was one of the side effects of bonding with a mage, you shared their extended lifespan. Without a mage, Familiars generally lived as long as a human, not their animal counterpart. Mages themselves were notoriously long lived, even before modern medicine had improved, bolstering longevity across the board. He’d seen an article not a week ago about a Parisian mage who’d died just a month after her three hundred and second birthday. He wasn’t sure how he felt about living to be over two hundred years old, but then many of the people he cared about would share that lifespan. Sam and Dean certainly would. They’d admitted with ranging decrease of sheepishness it was part of why they’d bonded him, the thought of Father Time stealing him away was unbearable. The unspoken bit, that the reason behind this was simply because they loved him too much, was understood.

“She was the mage, he was a Familiar,” Sam explained, slotting them between a minivan and a pickup truck.

“Probably could have turned a damn hurricane around if she wanted to,” Dean grumbled, climbing out.

“Probably,” Castiel agreed absently.

At least they were able to make it up to their room without further incident. It was late afternoon by that point, none of them were interested in getting out again unless it was for food. Particularly considering what they had planned for tomorrow. Generally covering such a distance on short term was ill-advised, but they weren’t doing it the old-fashioned way. They weren’t running it or biking it on two legs, they would be doing it as a wolf and an owl. Granted owls were built more for stealth than speed, but stamina had always been a strong suit of his. Add to this the capability boosts they got from being bonded to a mage, and it wouldn’t be much of an issue. Both Dean and Castiel could cover that span of distance if they were properly fed and rested beforehand. They’d likely be sore the next day, and tired, but it would be so worth it. Castiel certainly thought so. He loved seeing places like Beartooth from above.

After some debate they decided to just order pizzas. Considering they’d need to up their calorie intake, it was a cheap and easy way to manage it. Besides, pizza was something that was easy for them all to agree on. Or rather, it required less agreement.

“I know _why_ you’re doing it,” Sam said at length, leaning back in his seat. “I’m just not sure I’ll ever get used to it.”

Dean ignored his brother, if you could call an attempt to be even more obnoxious in his excessive pizza consumption ‘ignoring’. Castiel chose to tune them out, as he often did. Though he did try to be a bit neater in how he ate his own food. There was an ongoing James Bond marathon, and they’d put on the latest while they’d waited on their food.

“Not gonna pellet are you?”

Castiel paused, face contorting in a grimace. “I won’t, as long as you don’t push the matter.”

“Dean, really?” Sam protested.

“What?”

“Do you really have to ask when I’m six slices in?” Castiel deadpanned.

“Yeah, that.”

“Alright, alright, forget I asked,” the elder Winchester complained.

It was a part of his owl biology Castiel didn’t really enjoy. It was also the reason he avoided eating in his feathered form when at all possible. He knew it was natural, a part of a bird of prey’s digestive process. When he was a bird himself he didn’t even mind, it was just a bit uncomfortable. But when you were a two-leger, the notion of hacking up the undigestible parts of your meal was unsettling.

“Of course, if you want we could always discuss your tendency to scratch with your foot. Or that terribly intense urge to sniff butts.”

Dean glared at him. “How many times have I told you, I do _not_ get the urge to sniff butts.”

“We’re not judging, it’s okay to admit it,” Castiel told him, all innocence.

“There might be a little judging,” Sam admitted, taking a drink of his beer.

“Okay maybe a little.”

“I hate both of you.”

“I think that means you and I are banished to the second bed,” Castiel mused, picking up his seventh slice of pizza.

Dean grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but resumed stuffing his face. Castiel guessed there was still a fifty-fifty chance he’d change his mind. Sam didn’t mind much either way, neither did Dean if you asked him, but Castiel suspected even without his inner wolf he was something of a pack creature. Even on nights when they fell asleep not touching, he always woke up tangled with the man. It was more sprawling when all three of them were in the same bed, but if it was just the two of them Castiel would inevitably have to extract himself from the touch-starved octopus his lover was reduced to. Sam was less touch-oriented, and he liked being able to sprawl out. Not a common luxury when you were six foot four in your bare feet.

Tonight, as it turned out, Dean was feeling forgiving. Or he was after a whole meat lover’s pizza, two slices of extra cheese, and three beers. Both he and Castiel turned in early, or early for them. They crashed on one bed while Sam stayed up reading on the other. Not only did he seem amicable to this, he encouraged it, promising to get them up when it was time to roll out.

Sam Winchester was many things. A fool was not one of them. Castiel didn’t hear him leave, but he stirred when the mage came back bearing breakfast. He sat up a little, craning his neck to peer over the still sleeping Dean. Per usual, he was fully entangled with the other man.

“’Morning,” Sam said quietly, smiling his way as he eased the front door shut. He carried a bag from a chain restaurant in one hand, a drink caddy in the other.

“You brought food?”

“Yeah, went for a run, picked up breakfast.”

“How did I sleep through that?” Castiel muttered, carefully beginning the process of extracting himself.

“I’m guessing it was the beer. You only get a solid sleep out of town if you drink.”

The owl grimaced, but he knew Sam was right.

Dean stirred, grumbling in his sleep as Castiel tried peeling an arm away from where it was wrapped around his chest. For a moment the arm tightened, Dean rolling over until he was half on top of him and burying his face in the back of his neck. Castiel huffed, then glared at Sam as he snickered.

“Don’t just stand there, help me,” he hissed quietly.

“That always pisses him off.”

Deciding it was time he woke up anyway, Castiel reached back to boop Dean’s nose. This just got a grunt, and a face more fully buried in his collar. Glaring at a mage very obviously hiding a smile behind his takeout cup of coffee, he reached a bit farther around to tug at an ear.

“What?” Dean muttered, limbs constricting. “Go ‘way.”

“You need to wake up and I’m hungry. Please release me.”

Dean lifted his head, blinking blearily. “Food?”

“Yes, love. Food. Coffee.”

He wasn’t released, but the hold on him did loosen enough he was able to squirm to freedom. He threw his legs over the bed’s edge as Dean propped himself up on his elbows, yawning. “Didn’t think a health nut would bring donuts before a run.”

“Actually it’s mostly burritos and sandwiches,” Sam corrected, hazel eyes twinkling. “Eggs, bacon, cheese, lots of protein. You’ll need it.”

Castiel took a long, slow sip of coffee, then began rummaging through the bag. He set aside the two donuts on top, then pulled out a breakfast burrito. He was happily munching his way through it when Dean lurched to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, still not fully awake.

“It’s still not supposed to rain, is it?” Castiel asked, pulling out a breakfast sandwich next.

“No, we should be fine.” Sam opened his laptop, pecking a few keys and refreshing a window. “Winds won’t be too bad, and they’ll mostly be north, northeastern winds.”

Favorable winds were always a plus, though he knew he’d still be having an easier time of it. He wouldn’t have to mind the rugged terrain like Dean would. Well, he would, just not in the same way. Beyond the natural predators and competition, there were still poachers in the world, and photographers who would notice an animal being where they ought not to be. But of more import to Castiel, he liked to keep an eye on the brothers when they were traversing the same path. Sam would be easy enough, he’d be road-bound the whole time. Dean, particularly if he kept to the forests and underbrush, would be harder.

He had eaten his fill and was sitting back to nurse his coffee when Sam pulled a few things out of a bag that usually stayed in the Charger’s trunk. They kept matching bags in the Impala and Castiel’s pickup, just in case. They weren’t needed, technically, but they were a precaution, even if they were mostly used when they took their animal shapes when helping Sam do his work.

Besides a small First Aid kit, there were always some rations, water, a harness, a heavy-duty gauntlet glove, and a set of chaps. Castiel checked the glove and small set of handmade chaps while Sam looked over the harness. Both of them inspected to make sure everything was in order, nothing was frayed or would have a bit on them that would irritate whoever would be wearing them. Everything was checked over and properly oiled before they were put away again, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. Especially for the sort of adventure they had planned.

Castiel slipped into the bathroom when Dean finally emerged, dropping into the vacated seat to devour his own breakfast. Technically it was still rather early, but then the sooner they got started the better. He and Dean might fare well in the dark, but then they also knew Sam worried. Besides, a key point of this was to be able to see Beartooth in all her splendor. This was best done in daylight.

When he came out their supplies had been stowed again, and the brothers were getting ready to leave. Again they packed up, one of them checking them out before they set out for Beartooth highway. It was reasonably short drive from their hotel, down a street lined with old buildings. Some looked as though they’d been built a century ago or more. It was quite quaint.

Not long after they’d cleared the town, Sam pulled off the road. It wasn’t much, just a dirt outlet, but it was out of the way and large enough to suit their needs. It beat a parking lot, where people were more likely to stare.

Castiel climbed out as he threw the car into park, stretching his arms a bit as Dean swung his own back and forth, shaking them out and bouncing from foot to foot. As Sam got out the harness and chaps, Dean rolled his shoulders and sank to all fours, going from man to wolf in the space of a heartbeat. Wolves were bigger than people often thought, and Familiars were no different. From shoulder to hip Dean was six feet long, with an extra length of fluffy tail. His thick fur was yellow-tinged gray, belly and chest and paws all white.

Over a hundred pounds of wolf shook themselves out, then lumbered over to Sam. A light leather harness was slipped over his head, strips of soft leather winding around his forelegs and up around his ribs. Not so tight as to constrict his movements or breathing, but snug enough so it wouldn’t easily catch on anything as he ran. The strip that ran along his spine, connecting the pieces around his sides and base of his neck was thicker, specially reinforced to act as a perch if need be. Dean didn’t mind, so long as Castiel was carefully with his talons, and he seemed to enjoy the shock they got when people saw an owl sitting on a wolf.

That done, Castiel obligingly took on his feathered form, ruffling himself a bit and landing lightly on Sam’s shoulder. He was wearing his usual jacket, which had reinforced shoulder pieces that were as thick as the gauntlet he was tugging on. When he held it up, Castiel hoped from shoulder to hand, half extending his wings for balance so Sam could put on the chaps. They had no bells nor beacons nor loops, they weren’t there to track or restrain, just protect his feet. They were rather delicate, particularly compared to the rest of him, especially since he spent less time in this form than he did his human one.

“Ready?” Sam asked once it was done.

Even as he asked, an RV came down the road. Castiel rotated his head one hundred and eighty degrees to watch it, blinking solemnly at a vehicle that had begun to slow down. Dean huffed, ears flicking back a little in irritation, plumed tail swishing low and slow. As they passed, Sam gave an awkward wave, apparently also able to see the family staring at them. A few seemed to be snapping pictures.

Dean gave a short, annoyed growl once the RV passed, turning to trot along the road the way it had come. As he picked up speed, Sam’s awkward smile turned genuine as he looked to Castiel, who’d turned his head back around. “I guess that’s a yes. You ready?”

Castiel bobbed his head, hooting softly, wings at the ready. Sam lowered his arm a little, then thrust his gloved hand into the air, giving him a boost for takeoff. Castiel took flight, climbing skyward. He glanced down once he’d reached a suitable height, watching as Sam shed his glove and climbed back into the Charger. Satisfied all three of them were in motion, he turned his attention to following the road.

Dean had strayed a little off said path, though not too far. It was another few miles before the hills began in earnest. The trees were thin enough he’d probably be able to see vehicles as they passed, but they wouldn’t all be able to see him. Castiel could feel pings coming through his bond, not unlike a radar. It was something he returned, even as he surveyed the land below. Sam might be enjoying the scenic route as much as them, but he did worry. Not so much he didn’t trust them to take care of themselves, but enough to keep tabs on them as they went.

Despite reservations about doing this spur of the moment, Castiel was thrilled they’d made the decision. It was a gorgeous day, the air clear, the wind swelling beneath his wings, there wasn’t even an overabundance of vehicles below. Perfect.

Castiel alternately coasted and flapped, watching the rolling hills below him. Periodically he’d see Dean, bounding over a ridge coated in sparse greenery, skirting a stream, then vanishing back under more trees. The black Charger maintained the speed limit, likely on cruise control as Sam took things in on ground level. There wasn’t as much for a person to see from the road, but there was still splendor enough to draw many humans every year.

The sun worked its way across the sky overhead, warming dark feathers as he followed the highway’s path. It carved its way around hills and forests, curving back on itself several times. After the second time this happened he climbed higher until he could find where it eventually straightened out again. Of the three of them he would be the first to flag, he needed to conserve his strength. Besides, he found a nice air current to coast on that took him where he needed to go.

Castiel was scanning the distant brush below, wondering if he’d be able to spot Dean, when he felt a twinge through his bond with Sam. His wings wavered, and he sent an inquiry back. A moment later he got a pulse of surprise, then annoyed dismay.

He had half folded his wings, plunging groundward, aiming for the bond’s source when he felt anger. That wasn’t good. There was a very good reason people generally avoided pissing off powerful mages.

The owl slowed his decent, flapping his wings and dropping below the tree cover as he got closer to the highway. He’d spotted the Charger easily enough, stopped and half pulled off the road. He couldn’t see Dean, but if he’d felt Sam’s altering emotional state in their bond the elder Winchester most definitely would have. It was just a matter of time before he came charging in.

Preferring a stealthier approach, Castiel silently lit upon a branch that would provide a good vantage point. He was also a safe fifty feet off the ground, which was just as well. There were some relationships that perpetuated among Familiars, canines and felines rarely got on, the same for birds and felines. Meg was a panther, but they were an exception. He wasn’t so presumptuous to think it was wise to get within scent range of a lion. They were typically lazy, vain creatures, but they were still cats. Even an old one had to be sharp to reach such an age.

Sam’s surprise and dismay made sense. Judging by the skid marks on the road he’d seen the shield just in time, slamming on the breaks and pulling off the road mere feet from hitting it. A physical shield as well as a concealing one that spanned across the whole street, though the latter trait was dropping. Behind it was parked a recognizable powder blue Corvette.

“How long have you had that up?” Sam was asking, slamming the Charger’s door shut, mage kit over one shoulder. He was armed, good. “You know families come through here, right?”

“We only tuned it on for you. Special,” the old woman assured him, smiling sweetly.

Castiel didn’t recall her name, if it’d even been mentioned. Though it seemed ‘Frank’ was indeed her Familiar. Did she really think it wise, bringing him into a fight with her? A mage’s power might mature as well as a fine wine, and to an extent they were the same, you didn’t reach an old age yourself by challenging a mature Familiar with decades of experience under their belt. But after a point a Familiar’s animal side would kick in, combining with their human side. Neither beast nor human could reach true old age without their bodies betraying them.

“I’m flattered, but I’d like to know why you went through all the trouble,” Sam was saying. One hand, the one she couldn’t see, was slipping into an outer pocket in his kit.

The old woman laughed. Somehow it was even more unsettling that it sounded nice, nothing like a hag’s cackle. Castiel’s feathers ruffled as he sidled uneasily on his branch, scanning the area. Where was Dean?

“I’ve had a lot of names, young man, but I don’t think you would recognize any of them. We’ve worked hard to keep it that way. I must say, we didn’t expect to run into many mages. Never mind someone as powerful as you. It was a wonderful surprise, wasn’t it, Frank?”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” Sam sighed. “I’ve got somewhere to be. Are you going to take that down, or am I going to have to do it?”

Castiel felt the spark as he spoke, Sam’s power brushing over him, spurring a spell to life.

The old woman waved a hand at the barrier, and it began to fade. Before the owl could relax, he saw the magic being drawn from the barrier back through the old woman. She raised a palm, aiming it at Sam, still smiling in a grandmotherly fashion. It was decidedly eerie. Particularly when Castiel realized he had no idea what sort of spell was being woven. He didn’t like the looks of her magic, either. Mages had their own power with its own color, its own signature, like a fingerprint. Sam’s was red-flocked copper, for example. Rowena’s, Meg’s mage, was rich royal purple. But this…this looked wrong. It felt _wrong_. It was pale gray mixed with sickly hues of pale green, dull yellow, among others. Castiel was no mage, but a Familiar had a gut instinct about this sort of thing.

_Run,_ he thought, feathers puffing up. _Run. Get out of there. Get back into the car and drive away. Why aren’t you moving?_

The _wrong_ magic surged forward, oddly goopy fire swirling and hurling itself right at Sam. His hand flicked up and out, his crimson-flecked copper fire surging to meet it head-on. Whatever spell she’d thrown shattered easily. Too easily. To Castiel’s dismay, the shards kept coming. Every time Sam blocked or countered a spell it circled back again.

After the fourth round of this Sam demanded, “What the hell is this? What are you trying to do?”

“How old do you think we are, young man?”

“Did you mix a boomerang charm into this?”

“Guess.”

“I dunno, two hundred and eighty?”

“You’re off, I’m afraid. By about four hundred years.”

Sam stiffened, almost getting hit by her spell before he blocked it again. Castiel froze on his branch. If he’d been human his mouth would have likely fallen open. That wasn’t possible. No, that wasn’t right. It was possible, but such spells were illegal. They were outlawed in every country for ethical reasons.

As quickly as the shock had hit him, nearly knocking him from his perch, anger replaced it. Castiel knew why spells that would increase a life to such an extent were illegal. He would not allow Sam to be a victim in such an atrocity of a ritual. He would _not._

Castiel never considered himself a vengeful creature, but as he took flight he felt icy wrath pulsing through him. He skirted them, giving them as wide a berth as he dared. His primary advantage would be in a surprise attack, do damage before they suspected. Did they not wonder where Sam’s Familiars were? Or did they think he only had one? To be fair, there weren’t many avian Familiars out there.

_Nice of her to take down the barrier,_ he mused coldly, crossing where it had been and wheeling around to bear down on the enemy from behind. _Now where in the_ hell _is-_

A blur of gold and gray shot out of the brush, slamming into the lion hard enough to send both bodies to the road’s rugged asphalt.

_Ah, there he is._

The old woman swung around, apparently surprised. So obliging of her to offer her face to him. She seemed genuinely astonished to find a massive black owl descending on her with an outraged shriek, talons extended. He collided feet-first, going for her eyes, digging in for any flesh he could reach, open beak attacking her scalp.

It didn’t last long. He’d known it wouldn’t. But he took some satisfaction in hearing her scream before a burning wave of raw power slammed into him, sending him flying backward. He careened back through the air, flapping wildly as he tried to right himself, only for his spine to slam into a tree trunk.

“Cas!”

He hit hard ground, the sparse grass doing him few favors. Fluttering his wings, which were bruised but thankfully intact, he got himself upright and flapped himself up onto his feet. He would undoubtedly be sore come morning, but otherwise he seemed to be undamaged.

Sending an assurance through a bond pulsing with outrage, he took flight again, climbing to a safe height and taking in the situation as it stood. The old woman, who by now would have little humanity left in her, was shrieking like a banshee and hurling raw power at Sam. There was less coordination, no finesse. He really had blinded her by the looks of it, and her short cropped white hair was leaking dark crimson. One hand stayed pressed over her eyes, blood spilling through her fingers and down her face, a piece of scalp waving as her head jerked about.

Sam could handle her. Particularly now that the odds were balanced out. Satisfied, he turned his attention to Dean’s fight.

He was in time to see glittering fangs sink awkwardly into one of Dean’s hind legs. He didn’t even get the chance to wonder what made a Familiar’s fangs glisten like mercury before the wolf’s head was thrown back in a screaming howl.

“Dean!”

Panic shot through the bond, mirroring Castiel’s own. He plunged downward, even as the old woman began to laugh. Castiel’s extended talons slammed into the lion’s head, but they didn’t pierce flesh. They barely parted fur.

To his horror, Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to spasm on the asphalt. His only wound seemed to be the bite on his leg, which was no longer pointed the right way, Frank was the one who’d been made to bleed. Whatever protection he now wore hadn’t been there when he’d fought with Dean, there were multiple deep cuts in dusty golden fur dripping dark blood. Yet he was the one standing upright, looking stronger by the minute while Dean shuddered on the ground. No, this wasn’t right. The ritual they would use took time to prepare, it couldn’t be done so fast. Could it?

“Two Familiars? Greedy boy. But more for us. Thank you, they will sustain us far longer than just the one.”

“How the hell are you draining him so quickly?” Sam snarled.

“You like it? Took some tinkering, I’ll admit, but- “

Castiel landed on the lion’s scruff, which did him little good, but the lion did stop his gnawing. When he tried unsuccessfully to latch onto an ear with his beak, Frank released Dean altogether and swung his head around to try snapping at the owl.

Hurling a barrage of insults via hoots and shrieks, Castiel kept himself just aloft enough to keep clear of snapping jaws and swiping paws. He puffed himself up, taunting, swiping at an enemy that seemed immune to claw and fang. It was a spell, he knew it was, a deep-set enchantment of protection that had kicked in along with whatever enchantment was now a leach on Dean. But he knew not how to remove it, so he’d have to settle for trying to keep this shell of a Familiar occupied long enough for Sam to deal with his mage.

This wasn’t the best plan he’d ever come up with, but it was the most effective one he could think of at the moment.

Castiel had just lured the lion off the road when Frank surged upward, launching himself up on his hindquarters and very nearly getting a mouthful of feather and flesh. The owl shrieked as he contorted, narrowly escaping, feeling hot breath and snarling lips graze him before Frank dropped back to earth.

When he looked down again, his heart sank. Oh gods help them, the enchantment was already in motion. The white and gray was fading from Frank’s muzzle, his main no longer sparse. A gaunt frame was filling out again, the clock turning back.

Dean still lay where he’d fallen, leg wound bleeding sluggishly, eyes rolled back in his skull, shuddering as an illegal spell worked on his very life force. Leaching it out of him. Slowly. Painfully.

No. No, no, no, _no!_

Cloth tore as he exploded out of his handmade anklets. Castiel’s feet hit the ground, human and shod. He didn’t think, he just charged. If he couldn’t make this damned lion bleed, fine. Maybe he could still bruise.

Despite the rejuvenation, Frank still seemed taken off guard when Castiel abandoned his animal shape. It went against instinct for a Familiar in a fight. As an owl he was smaller, faster, with a much broader range of motion, not to mention built-in weapons. But none of that would do him any good if he couldn’t scratch the damned lion. His human form was stronger, bigger, his bones harder to break.

Castiel slammed into the lion hard enough to make him stagger, half falling to the ground before catching himself. He lurched to his feet, then scrambled around, trying to keep away from claws and fangs. All he had to do was avoid those, make himself the bigger threat. That was as far as his rational thought went, though. He was still seeing red, rage and terror pulsing like flaming ice through his veins.

He couldn’t see the fight behind him, but he could feel magic pulsing even at this distance. The woman was still screeching. Power crackled. Spells popped. The acrid reek of burning hair reached his nose as he threw himself under a swiping paw, rolling in the dirt and landing half below Frank. It hadn’t been planned, but he took full advantage, throwing his arms out to brace himself on the ground and kicking one foot straight up. He was lucky, the toe of his boot slammed into the lion’s belly, right below his rib cage.

He was scrambling up and away, lurching to his feet, when he felt icy pain explode between his shoulder blades. He’d forgotten his back was already bruised until then, the impact sending him to one knee. At least since he’d knocked the wind out of Frank the lion was still getting his own breath back, and his attempt to swipe flesh from his face was dodged, if barely.

Castile caught himself on one hand, scrambling to crawl a few paces in the weed-ridden dirt before lurching to his feet.

As he rightened himself, the world swam around him, the ground pitching like a boat deck under his feet. He wheeled his arms, swaying, the ice on his back turning to molten heat. The change was so intense he wheezed, sucking in a sharp breath.

Frank was coming at him again, charging forward. Castiel threw himself sideways, shoulder smacking into a tree. The fresh pain cleared his head briefly, and he jerked around. His vision was oddly blurred, his knees buckling, thoughts clouding.

One some level he knew something was wrong. He’d been hit with magic. Something was happening to him. It wasn’t good. He’d need to see to it. He knew this, but…he didn’t care. What would it matter, if he lived and they died?

Rational thought was no longer in control. Instinct was. And every fiber of his being was honed in on one thing.

Frank was getting stronger by the second, but he must not see Castiel as a threat anymore. He’d turned his back to the owl, looking away. Whether it was towards his mage or towards Dean, Castiel didn’t know. He couldn’t see that far anymore. All he knew was that the stupid beast had turned his tail to him, and he wasn’t about to waste such an opportunity.

He didn’t think, he ran. Or he thought he was running. He might very well be lurching along like the wounded owl he was. Regardless, he was able to come right up to the lion and throw himself over his back.

Frank snarled, lurching away, but Castiel already had one leg thrown over him, arms around his neck. He strained, wrapping both arms around muscled neck and dense main until he found his own wrists. Each hand latched on to the opposite wrist, holding on with a death grip.

_Do not let go. You can’t let go. If you let go he goes after Sam or Dean. Why won’t she stop screaming?_

His body was starting to slide off the dancing and bucking lion, but his arms stayed locked where they were as tight as he could manage. Even at full strength he doubted he could strangle the damned Familiar, but at the very least he could make a nuisance of himself. Slow him down. Distract him.

One leg hit the ground, dragging over asphalt. Then his hip. Castiel was bracing himself for a clawed paw somewhere on his person when the screaming finally fell quiet with a disconcerting gurgle. It wasn’t until then that it occurred to him her screams hadn’t been of rage or shrieking incantations. When had that changed? Why hadn’t he noticed? What was Sam doing?

Frank _roared._ Castiel winced, his ears ringing, but he didn’t let go. The lion charged, owl still attached, only to stop cold after three bounds. He swayed, stumbled, a sound not unlike a choking wail in his throat.

At first Castiel just thought the spell was reversing. He could feel the mane and flesh under his arms shrinking. Reducing. Withering.

The molten agony in his back faded, which was a relief. His ears were still ringing from Frank’s roar, he couldn’t hear much besides his own pounding pulse, but he hoped Dean was better now that the spell was reversing. If Frank was deteriorating, then Dean’s lifeforce was being returned, right?

Castiel dragged his eyes open, unable to do anything but stare dumbly at the disintegrating pelt and neck he still clutched. It wasn’t just gray, it was…calcifying. Turning white. Crumbling. Flesh and fur and muscle alike all turned to pale dust until he was left with vertebrae that fell apart, leaving him half lying on the ground.

He gave what had once been Frank a long look, then lifted his head towards where he’d last seen Dean. The wolf was gone, the only trace of him a small pool of blood on the road. Castiel blinked slowly, then dragged his head around towards Sam.

He couldn’t see Sam. There was a mass of brambles in the way. Shoots and roots had thrust themselves through asphalt, anchoring themselves in the dirt below. A mix of bamboo, kudzu, and thorny vines was now a massive ball of greenery. The only traces of their victim was dark blood dripping from a few vines, and a few bamboo stalks splashed with dust.

Well, that explained Frank. His mage had been the central point for the enchantments keeping him alive. Once she was dead, those spells would come undone, returning him to the age he should be. Apparently the combination of a doubled lifespan and too much magic meant that ‘age’ was defleshed bones.

Swallowing thickly, Castiel dragged himself to his feet. Aside from various bruises and scrapes, his only real wounds seemed to be his buzzing ears and a mammoth bruise on his back. Not bad, all things considered.

Stumbling around the mass of greenery now blocking most of one lane, Castiel’s legs nearly gave out in relief when he saw both brothers alive and well. Okay, perhaps ‘well’ was an overstatement, but both seemed to be intact and not dying. As Dean would say, he would happily take the win.

Sam was pale and covered in sweat, hair damp with it, but aside from being magically drained he seemed to be unharmed. He was barely upright himself, but he had one arm around Dean, helping him to sit down before he fell down.

“Damn it, stop trying to walk.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. You look like hammered crap.”

“You both do,” Castiel croaked.

Dean tried to get up, but Sam pushed him back down, shoulders to the Charger’s bumper. Straightening, Sam lurched forward a step to grab the owl by one sleeve and haul him into a bear hug. Castiel made to return it, only to yelp as he was wrapped in shaky arms.

Sam yanked back, gripping him by the shoulders, a worried frown creasing his brow. “What’s wrong? You hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“Not excessively. I did get thrown against a tree. I’ll be fine. Please sit down before you fall down.”

“But- “

“Now. Then someone needs to contact the authorities.”

He pushed Sam down next to his brother, then collapsed himself. Though in his case it was as much relief as the come down from adrenaline. The parts of him that weren’t throbbing painfully felt about as steady as jelly.

“Dean?”

The wolf made a face. He seemed to be mostly unharmed, save for his left leg. His harness hung loose around his shoulders, the lower part torn when his wider human torso had outgrown it. Holes had been torn in his jeans, each one stained red. It was bleeding sluggishly, but he wasn’t trying to stem the flow. “Fucker broke my damn leg. Fat load of use I was.”

“Considering the circumstances I don’t blame you,” Castiel informed him, frowning. “And you were a great deal of use.” He tugged off his trench coat as Sam rummaged through his pockets. He crawled over, then set about gently wrapping Dean’s injured limb as best he could.

“Damn it, Cas, can’t you leave it?” he bit out, gritting his teeth.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t bleed out before an ambulance arrives.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Forgive me if I think we’ve tested fate enough for one day.”

They fell quiet as Sam got dispatchers on the line. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what sort of reception you got this far out, but then each of their phones had a spell painted on the outer casings. They could be in a cave in China and still have just enough reception to make a call. One of Sam’s personal creations.

Castiel wrapped Dean’s limb as best he could with his trench coat, trying to be careful of broken bone. That done, he crawled forward until he could brace a shoulder against the Charger’s bumper, seating himself between the brothers. He tipped his head against sun-warmed metal, lids fluttering as he settled in to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like an age before an ambulance and two police cars reached them, lights flashing. As two EMT’s loaded a none-too-pleased Dean onto a stretcher a fourth vehicle arrived. This one had a familiar seal on both front doors. Castiel caught a glimpse of it as he was ordered to sit on the ambulance’s bumper so he could be checked out. He knew it was standard protocol, calling in the local representatives of the N.B.M.A. when there was a magic related call, but he didn’t look forward to the paperwork. They’d stayed out of trouble with the National Bureau of Magical Affairs, but in his experience rural folk were less tolerant of the unorthodox. Each country had their own Magic Council, but the N.B.M.A. was universal.

Sam sat on the bumper opposite Castiel once Dean was loaded into the vehicle, legs still shaky. They’d put a shock blanket on him, given both of them bottles of water as the non-magic humans gawked at what had become of would-be highwaymen. Castiel still couldn’t hear very well, it might take a bit before that changed, but he sat still for an EMT checking his vitals.

They’d checked him over, and he thought he was going to get the okay from them when they started feeling around his skull. He wasn’t sure why, until one blue gloved hand came away with blood on the fingers. He stared at it dumbly, then up at the EMT.

“Is that bad?”

She nodded, grim faced. She straightened, motioning for him to stand and guiding him into the ambulance. Rising her voice a little and catching his gaze she explained, “You could have a head injury, you need to get checked out at the hospital.”

He was obligingly strapping himself into one of the seats when Sam asked, “Head injury? Is he gonna be okay?”

“It’s just a precaution,” she promised. Turning back to Castiel, gauze in hand, she said, “Lean forward, please.”

Castiel honestly hadn’t felt it until she started blotting it with gauze and antiseptic. He winced, but stayed as still as he could. Even after two agents came over and flashed their badges.

“Mr. Winchester? We need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? I need to go with them.”

“You are not a licensed war mage and two people are dead.”

“Because they tried to kill us,” Dean snapped.

“Dean,” Castiel muttered. He wasn’t helping.

“Look, we’ll answer all your questions, just not right now.”

“Only family or Familiars are allowed to ride, and I think they’re running out of room.”

Castiel waited until the EMT had taped down a gauze over his wound, then looked up at her. “Sam is Dean’s brother, he’s my boyfriend, and we’re both his Familiars. He’s also used a lot of magic. He might be going into shock.”

It seemed this particular branch of N.B.M.A. hadn’t put much effort into maintaining relations with the locals. Once provided with valid reasons, the EMT’s seemed almost eager to kick them out and bundle all three of their charges off to the nearest hospital. Even though this had technically happened in Wyoming, this meant they were taken to a facility in Red Lodge, Montana.

Instead of spending their day on Beartooth, getting in touch with their wild sides and admiring nature’s splendor, they spent the rest of it in a hospital. They were processed, looked over, given ID bracelets and bustled to different wings. Dean needed x-rays, they wanted to give Castiel a CT scan, and Sam needed a going-over by a healer to make sure he hadn’t pushed himself too far.

Thankfully they eventually declared Castiel didn’t have a concussion, just a few fractured ribs, scraped scalp, and what the nurse called a “big-ass bruise” on his back. They moved him to a room to wait for a healer, during which time Dean was wheeled in. Thankfully they’d drugged him at some point, likely when they’d had to set his bones. After moving him onto the room’s second bed Castiel was informed both the tibia and fibula had had compound breaks, and Dean had only aggravated it by shifting back to human then trying to move immediately after. He now had a cast, but a healer hadn’t seen to him yet either.

Castiel had to wait another half hour before a mage who specialized in medical magic came to see them. She started on him, fixing the scalp abrasion and mending his ribs. Judging by the tingling in his ears and the ringing finally fading away, she also mended his eardrums. When she spoke next, her voice was much clearer. He’d need to take it easy for another few days so as not to undo her work, but otherwise he was fine. She also gave him a jar of bruise salve for his back, the first application of which she helped him with.

She had her hands over Dean’s cast, the soft lavender of her power working on his bones when Sam came in. He looked a little better, but Castiel didn’t ask, unwilling to disturb the healer. Sam closed the door quietly, moving to sit in one of the chairs and waiting mutely until she was done to ask, “How are they?”

“This one needs to learn to stay off a broken leg,” she informed him crisply, giving him a severe look. “You might want to encourage that.” Looking to Castiel, she repeated, “Take it easy for three days, apply the salve twice daily until it’s gone completely. I’ll be back later to check in, they won’t discharge you until we’re sure you won’t undo my hard work.”

“Thank you.”

Once she was gone Sam asked, “How do you feel?”

Castiel waved his free hand at the arm with an IV port. “Better, since they gave me painkillers.”

He chuckled at that. “Looks like they gave Dean morphine.”

“He will appreciate that later. Though I do prefer the more natural options.”

“We had to leave the weed at home, remember?”

Castiel sighed, leaning his head back on his pillow. He could do it without wincing now. The healer had known what she was doing. “Unfortunately. What happened, exactly?”

Sam sobered, mouth setting in a tight line. Glancing towards the door he admitted, “Not sure how long we’ve got before they try to interrogate us. You know how they get about you killing people with magic without a license.”

“Yes, but I am not them. What happened?”

He waited patiently, watching, blinking slowly. Sam was quiet for a long minute, brow furrowed. It didn’t seem he was stalling, just struggling to formulate how to go about explaining.

At last he stood, legs a bit steadier. Whatever draft they’d given him to help restore his strength must have helped, though likely he’d need a lot of food to help rebuild his energy stores. Castiel watched, worried, as he plodded over to his bed. One long fingered hand wrapped around the plastic railing at his side, the other reaching out shakily. Castiel held still, staring up into Sam’s face as a palm pressed to his cheek.

“Are you alright?”

Sam smiled tightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…I wasn’t paying attention. I should have noticed that barrier sooner. I should have…”

“I don’t blame you,” Castiel informed him. “We’re alive, we’re fine, they’re not even going to keep us a full day.” Assuming they kept their promise of a morning release.

The pad of a thumb stroked his temple, and rather than argue Sam bent to press his lips to the owl’s forehead. Castiel’s lids slid closed as he felt barriers fall, one by one. Physical closeness made these things easier, sex being the most effective, but it wasn’t a requirement.

Castiel opened his eyes, staring down Beartooth highway, the sun high overhead. Dean was on the ground, seizing, his life force fed into Frank. Unlike Castiel, Sam could see the flow of power.

He turned away for a moment, just long enough to grab a specially prepared ball from his kit, fending off the damned boomeranging spell yet again. When he looked up again, it was to see a second enchantment latch onto his second Familiar, now in human form.

Sam threw his ball. It slid under the shield the old bitch had put up, rolling to a stop between her feet. He couldn’t reach either of them, not from here. If he didn’t act fast, he’d lose them both. Something that didn’t bear thinking about.

Abandoning his own offenses, Sam focused on pouring every drop of power not keeping her attacks at bay into that ball. She didn’t even notice until vines and shoots began to grow upward, roots burrowing through asphalt. He didn’t blame her, few mages specialized in ambient magic. When you channeled power through things like plants, getting through magical defenses was rarely a problem. They were designed for academic spells and charms, after all, humans, not weeds and vines.

“What is this?” she shrieked when she finally noticed. She tried to take a step back, only to stumble when kudzu tightened, thorns digging into flesh. Face contorting in a snarl beneath all the blood and bits of eyeball, she blasted some of them with curdling magic fire. Some fell away, burned, but twice as many surged forward to take their place.

Blood-matted hair was turning gray, then black. Her frame solidified, no longer knobby and bony, her skin no longer frail with age. Like Frank, her biological clock was turning back. She was draining Castiel.

Forsaking his defenses altogether, Sam poured as much power as he dared into the plants at her feet. They exploded with growth, already accelerated. Thorned vines whipped around her arms and legs, digging into rejuvenated skin, gouging into the fabric of her clothes. Kudzu came after them, coiling around her and snapping tight. When there was nothing left to grab, they started bundling around her, becoming a solid green mass. Bamboo shoots raced up around her, or they had been. The ones in place grew to ten feet in mere seconds. Others shot skyward, their exteriors stained crimson.

Shrieking attempts at spells were cut off as kudzu snaked around her head and mouth, going tight around skull and neck. Muffled gurgling followed as the bamboo grew straight through her. Even before she was dead, her enchantments falling apart like unspooled thread, there was little left to see of her. She’d become a solid mass of greenery.

Sam only cut off the stream of power when he saw dust puff through a few scant cracks of vines and leaves, legs buckling. He had some power left, a few drops, but most of it had gone into that working. Getting plants to grow so fast they grew straight through whatever and whoever was on top of them took a lot of work.

Prepared to use what little he had left on Frank, Sam turned towards the lion. He was just in time to see Castiel drop to the ground among fleshless bones. When he dared to look for his brother, it was to see the damned fool human and hopping on his good leg around what was left of the other mage.

Castiel opened his own eyes as the barriers returned, Sam pulling away. Reaching up with the hand not anchored by an IV line, Castiel tangled fingers in his jacket and asked, “If you hate using them, why do you make them?”

He’d been the one to suggest it. Shortly after moving in with them Sam had been tinkering with unconventional methods of magical defense, and he’d mentioned the idea after a day of trimming recalcitrant rose bushes. They had made several types of balls, but the one Sam had thrown at that mage today was covered in black cloth. Tailored specially for death, the seeds and handmade fertilizer designed to be quick, deadly, reinforced so they’d not break with the accelerated growth, and resistant to magic should mages take offense. The plants themselves were chosen for their potential to kill if they could be made to move fast enough. Others he used semi-regularly in his workings, but this was only the second time Sam had felt pushed into using a black ball.

Sam shrugged, but didn’t move away from his bedside. Meeting his eyes steadily, taking the hand that was gripping his jacket, he stated, “You know why.”

He did. He felt it. Hell, if their positions were reversed he would have done it himself. “I’m still sorry you had to.”

“I’m not. Not this time.”

“Perhaps we should revisit this after the N.B.M.A. come by.”

Sam grimaced at that. “Forgot about them.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll bother investigating the scene before they interrogate us?”

A brusque knock on the door made them look up. The agent outside didn’t bother waiting, pushing the door open even as they knocked. Castiel found this rude.

“Guess not,” Sam muttered, for his ears alone, as he straightened. Louder, he asked, “You had questions for us?”

Castiel trudged out onto their back porch, letting the screened door clack shut on his heels. He collapsed into one of the wide wooden lounge chairs with a low groan, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Without opening them he stated, “Next time, it’s your turn.”

Sam, who had only recently escaped out here himself with an ereader, asked, “Finally get him settled?”

“Yes.”

He felt the need to impress upon the world that he loved both Sam and Dean dearly. That being said, the last two weeks had been trying his patients. At first it hadn’t been so bad, but then they’d also known Dean wouldn’t handle being cooped up very well.

“He can get the cast off in another week,” Sam reminded him.

All Castiel had to say to that was a piteous groan. He’d spent the last ten minutes bickering with a wolf that refused to get comfortable. He hadn’t actually fluffed pillows since he’d been trying to make his bed to his mother’s strict specifications. Eventually, by the grace of one deity or another, Dean was comfortable enough to be left alone with the TV remote, a beer, and pie.

Wood creaked. Castiel cracked his eyes open, then scooted over as Sam came around to join him. The chairs were wide enough for two, barely, but he didn’t mind the closeness. Once the mage was next to him, he settled in contentedly against his side.

“If it makes you feel any better, they finally got back to me,” Sam said, wrapping one lanky arm around his shoulders. “No trial or anything. We don’t even have to go back up there to show our faces to a court.”

“Small blessings,” Castiel mumbled, resting a cheek against his chest.

Those N.B.M.A. agents had spent no less than an hour asking each of them questions at the hospital that day. That time had only lengthened when Dean had finally woken up and they’d pounced on him too. Castiel knew they had procedures to follow, but did they really have to treat it like a witch hunt?

At least the case officer assigned to them had been nice. She’d kept them in the loop, contacting them with updates as they were dredged up. They’d been released from the hospital the morning following their incident, and opted to just drive home after that. An already long thirteen-hour drive had been made even longer by aches, pains, and general weariness. All three had collapsed when they’d finally made it home, not even fully unloading the car until the next morning.

A few days after they’d had a conference call from their case worker, and the first thing she’d done was assure them they wouldn’t need a lawyer. Not with what they’d already dug up on the attempted highwaymen, and it sounded as though there was still more to come. Apparently both had led very eventful lives.

The IDs they’d found belonging to the mage and ‘Frank’ had been for Margarette and Franklin Jones, but after a day or so of digging around they’d managed to uncover three other aliases. Eventually they’d found their original names. Castiel was inclined to sympathize with a mage and Familiar who’d somehow managed to get married during one of history’s more repressive periods, but any and all sympathy had evaporated when they’d attacked his family. Ferdinand and Meriel Crawgyll had stolen more than enough time in this world.

Technically N.B.M.A. agents didn’t thank mages for doing their jobs for them, it just wasn’t done. Particularly since Sam and his Familiars were unusual, for all times were gradually becoming more progressive. That being said, it was rather implied by some of the documents they were sent by higher ups. Dean had joked about framing them. Even if they were written in legalese and technical jargon, they did admit that Sam’s strength and skill as a mage, combined with the power behind having two Familiars, were integral to their victory. They left out the luck of the Crawgyll’s not anticipating both of Sam’s companions being bound to him, but Castiel was satisfied all the same.

Bureaucracy was even slower when there was magic involved, if such a thing was possible. It would take more than two weeks for the proceedings to run their course. At least it meant they would be left alone, save for updates

Castiel absently laced his fingers through Sam’s, looking out over their garden. Both he and Sam tended it, where rows of flowers and herbs that ran between paths and out to Sam’s workshop. Beyond that were Castiel’s bee boxes. Dean left the garden alone, preferring general yardwork, leaving things like herbs and rose bushes to their mercies.

The sun was nearing the far horizon, afternoon turning to evening, the air cooling. It was nice. Peaceful.

He was staring up at a dimming sky when his hand was drawn up, warm lips pressing to his wrist. Castiel raised his head, briefly meeting hazel eyes before Sam slowly dipped down. His lids fluttered closed, free hand coming up to stroke through brown hair as his mage kissed him. There was no need to it, no urgency, just lingering tenderness.

One hand cupped the side of his neck, the other sliding down his arm, wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Castiel glanced over when they parted for a breath, making sure the gate had been closed before he carefully climbed up onto his knees, bracing them astride Sam’s legs. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, even done gingerly the chair’s wood dug into his knees and shins, but he could manage short term. Particularly after he plopped his ass on the other man’s thighs to take some of his weight off them. Sam’s preference for jogging had blessed him with runners thighs, which was a contributing factor to Castiel’s encouragement of the activity.

When they came back together, mouths melding, lips parting, Castiel had both hands buried in Sam’s hair. One hand was currently working its way under his open hoodie and shirt, fingers splaying over the bare skin of his back while the other stayed on his neck, keeping him close, only letting him pull away long enough for them to pant in air.

“Sure we have time?” he gasped, voice rougher than usual a minute later. The hand at his back had withdrawn, and was in the process of nimbly undoing his jeans.

Sam mouthed along the line of his throat, the owl’s head falling back, lids fluttering as his breath hitched. “If it makes you feel better, you can always blow him later. That might actually appease him for a while.”

Castiel was pondering this, and not doing a single thing to stop the hand currently worming its way into his pants, when the delicate tinkle of a bell came from inside the house. He groaned, forehead dropping onto Sam’s shoulder at the sound. “He heard you,” he grumbled quietly.

“No way he heard me,” Sam protested, though his own shoulders drooped. “Why the hell did you let him start using that bell?”

“I’m sympathetic to the point of stupidity.”

Dean was very capable of thundering loud enough to make himself heard, even if they were in the garden and he was inside the garage. Sam’s theory was that it was a canine trait, not unlike how a wolf’s howling could be heard miles away. Castiel just thought he had a gift for projection that had not been accompanied by a gift for singing. A rare occasion when the two didn’t come hand in hand.

For the most part, during these last two weeks, on the regular occasion Dean needed something he would summon one of them by a bellow of either, “Sam!” or “Cas!”, with the occasional “Sammy!”. He was antsy, but they were still trying to keep him from moving about too much, seeing as he still wore a cast on one leg. He now spent most of his time in a downstairs bedroom and the living room. His needs, sadly, were wide, varied, and very often boredom induced. Meaning his bellows were regular occurrences. In an effort to get him to save his voice, Castiel had provided him with two bells with two distinct sounds. Nothing fancy, just a little bell and a slightly larger one, both of which could be sat on a table and rung by an attached handle.

For some reason, the higher pitched one which Dean had labeled ‘Cas’ in Sharpie, seemed to be his favorite.

“Just ignore him,” Sam was saying, simultaneously palming his crotch and kissing him sweetly.

Castiel tried. Really. But after a mere minute of peace their kiss was interrupted by the shake of a bell.

“It’s your turn, go shut him up,” he grouched, plopping himself back onto the seat with a huff.

Sam made a face, but lurched upright and lumbered inside. He wasn’t inside for very long. Castiel heard a rumble of voices, then the mage came back outside, face twisted in a wry grimace.

“He said ‘I didn’t ring the Sammy bell’. Remind me to break those next time he falls asleep.”

“Good luck with that.” They’d already tried getting rid of them twice. Dean had decided he very much wanted to keep the damned things and was clinging to them like they were security blankets.

Before he could stand, an aggressive _ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding_ came from inside the house.

Scowling, Castiel rose to his feet and shouted, “Ring that cursed thing again and I am shoving it up your ass!”

Sam raised his eyebrows, but kept his peace as they waited. One blessed second of silence. Two blessed seconds of silence. Three-

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!_

“I’m not going to be the one getting it back out again,” Sam stated as the owl redid his jeans.

Castiel yanked open the screen door, marched down the short hall, rounded a corner, and came to a stop by the couch. Dean was sprawled out on it, busted foot propped on a pillow, shoulders cushioned by another against the opposite arm. Spreading his arms, he demanded, “What? What do you want now?”

Dean looked up at him with big, evergreen eyes, his expression far too innocent. Then, unable to be restrained long, a cheeky grin began to creep back onto his face. He pointed to a plate with a fork and hearty slice of pie sitting on the coffee table, which he’d been able to reach in times past. Castiel had seen him do it just today. “I can’t reach it.”

“You called me back in here to hand you your pie?” Castiel asked slowly, each word said deliberately. “Dean, why could Sam not do this?”

“I wanted you to do it.”

Castiel’s fingers twitched, itching to wrap around his neck. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, deliberately counting to five before stating, “You realize it’s not in your best interest to continue like this?”

“But I’m _bored,”_ Dean complained. “I’m running out of quality bingeing material. Do you have any idea how long that takes?”

“Dean, I love you, but if you keep summoning me for tasks you don’t need me for, I am going to kill you.”

“I thought you were going to shove this up my ass,” the wolf said innocently, wiggling his bell.

Castiel’s eye twitched. Then his face relaxed as an idea formed. He knew he was on to something when he saw a bit of the cockiness leave Dean’s face. “Oh, I will be shoving _something_ up your ass,” he said, smiling sweetly. “But whether or not that something is pleasant will be entirely based on whether or not you persist.”

Dean was eyeing him wearily, adjusting himself so he was sitting up a bit straighter. “What do you have in mind?”

Wandering a bit closer, Castiel admitted, “I don’t generally negotiate with terrorists, but desperate times. I’ll make you a deal, love. Do not ring those damned bells unless you have a legitimate reason, and you will be rewarded. Continue, and I will cover a dildo in that lube from the red jar and shove it up your ass instead of that little bell.”

It was an interesting thing, seeing a face that seemed to want to pale and blush at the same time. Sam wasn’t opposed to switching, but generally they both preferred it when he topped. Dean was another matter, in that they switched regularly. He also enjoyed being on the receiving end of more things than Sam did, as opposed to being on the delivering end. Among Castiel’s experiments had been cooling and warming lubes, safe but a bit stronger than what you could find in a store. The red jar held a blend that would cause no harm, but would produce a potent burning sensation for up to two hours. The blue jar would have the same results, but its sensation was an icy one.

“Are you serious?”

Rather than answer, Castiel folded his arms, raised a brow, and waited. He never understood why, but something about that did something to the brothers. When pressed, Dean had once garbled something about a ‘dom brow’.

Regardless of what he thought of that, the results were undeniable. After a moment more of staring, Dean rolled onto one hip, leaning over a little and carefully picking up his pie plate. He took a bite, then asked, “What kind of reward?”

“Since it will have only been a few hours today, likely oral. But I will reset the clock at midnight. Try not to abuse it.”

When he came back outside, Sam raised his eyebrows in question.

“I don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore. I really should have thought of this sooner. Now I would appreciate it if we could continue someplace a bit softer.”

Sam pounced on him, and Castiel wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up on the ground, but he wasn’t complaining. The thick grass hadn’t been cut in a while, it served as a lovely cushion. It was certainly softer on his knees when they ended back in the same position as before, hands entangled with each other, kissing slow and through.

This time they managed to get both their pants undone, one of Sam’s hands focusing its attention on working jeans and boxer briefs down from his hips. When they were shoved down to his knees, Sam began to crawl forward. He wasn’t dumped so much as lowered to the ground, shirt pushed up until the mage was able to lick his nipples directly. It occurred to him, as he heard a lid unscrew, that the cocky bastard had fetched lube at some point. Either before he came out the first time or while he was negotiating with Dean. But he was too deep in the moment to complain.

Long fingers took their time, spreading him open, fingers still tangled in his hair dragging him up for a proper kiss after he’d spent enough time tenderizing dusky nipples. Sam obliged, smiling against his lips as a third finger slid inside him. Castiel’s lids fluttered, breath hitching, lightly catching the mage’s lower lip between his teeth. Sam growled softly in turn, adding a fourth finger without any preamble. That got a whimper from the owl, but he did wait until Castiel had relaxed again to withdraw them.

Castiel stared up at Sam’s face, framed by a sky splashed with pinks and oranges and growing dark, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and hitching hips up a bit. He pressed the palm of one hand to his cheek, a soft keening sigh drawn from his lips as he was filled. Sam took him slowly, rocking forward in a single, steady motion until groin bumped buttocks.

Buried to the hilt, he dipped to kiss his Familiar. It was so slow and sweet and tender Castiel heard himself whimper when they parted. Sam smiled down at him, clean hand stroking through his hair, then tangling in it. His next kiss was rougher, possessive, and the owl couldn’t bring himself to care. Sam was drawing back, slowly pulling out until only the head of his cock remained, then snapping his hips forward again. He swallowed Castiel’s soft cry, alternating between slow and quick, pinning the smaller man to the grass to keep him steady as he did.

As he did this, barriers fell away one by one. More unconscious on their part than not. Castiel’s connection to reality became a weak one, anything beyond Sam not seeming terribly important. When he felt lube smeared onto his own palm, he obediently grabbed for his own cock. When Sam eventually growled a whispered demand in his ear to cum, compliance came easily.

His orgasm had run its course, and he was lying limp on the grass, panting, when Sam followed him over that edge. He didn’t do it every time, but for some reason feeling Castiel cum on his cock always urged him along to the finish.

Sunlight was gone completely when Sam slowly pulled out, shakily laying on his back next to Castiel in the grass. Fingers found his, drawing his hand up so the mage could kiss his inner wrist. Castiel sighed quietly, closing his eyes. “Please don’t start again. I won’t be able to follow through on my arrangement, and then he’ll never settle down.”

Sam chuckled, but contented himself with a kiss to his cheek, settling back down on the grass. “Do I want to know what that arrangement is?”

“Not in detail, no. But going forward perhaps you should find something to do involving headphones around bedtime.” He made a face as Sam snorted a laugh into his shoulder. “Unless you would rather endure more bell ringing, I would rather you didn’t laugh. Did you know he wanted me to hand him his pie?”

Sam raised his head, staring blankly at him. “You’re serious?”

“You’re the one he asked to put his coffee in the microwave for approximately ten seconds.”

“I’ll get my headphones when we go inside. The noise canceling ones.”

“Wise choice, love.”

Keeping the noise down when the brother he wasn’t engaging in intercourse with was still around was something of a common courtesy he tried to employ. That being said, he wouldn’t put it passed Dean to eschew such things, given the mental state he was stuck in. The part of him not annoyed by the man pitied him, knowing he didn’t do well when he was essentially on lockdown. Likely his inner wolf was going out of its mind.

Castiel clung to this thought determinedly for what little remained of the evening. He was a man of his word, Dean didn’t touch either of the bells again, nor did he bellow for them to tend trivialities. So before going to bed, Sam took the hint and disappeared upstairs to watch some documentary or another.

Tired as he was, and a bit tender after that romp in the yard, Castiel didn’t linger much on foreplay. Dean didn’t seem to mind, the man was bored and horny. After a bit of kissing and petting Castiel settled himself on his knees on the living room rug, pulling down the waistband sweatpants Dean had been wearing. He gave his boxers the same treatment, setting them low enough to be out of the way, and wrapped a hand around the base of a half-hard cock. He lightly ran his tongue over the reddening tip, then set about licking around the circumference. Once he’d gotten Dean’s dick to full mast and wet enough to suit him, he licked his lips and took the head into his mouth. Relaxing his throat, he eased Dean in at a steady pace, not stopping until his eyes were watering and his nose was buried in pubic hair. He swallowed once, twice, then pulled back.

Castiel spared a glance up as he took a breath, wiping his eyes before diving back in. Dean’s head had fallen back, eyes lidded and heated, lips parted in ragged breaths. One hand stroked Castiel’s hair as he worked, holding or petting, not trying to guide him. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, Castiel knew quite well what he liked. Something he planned to use to his advantage.

He licked, sucked, swallowed, bobbed, and hummed, occasionally turning his attention to the other Familiar’s balls before returning to his cock. He used an already spit-covered hand to stroke wasn’t in his mouth, fondling tightening testicles, occasionally moving around to rub nearby flesh. Lower belly, inner thighs, anything sensitive.

His jaw was only just starting to get sore when Dean rasped, “Cas, gonna cum, gonna cum Cas, might wanna…oh fuck….”

Castiel appreciated the warning. He waited until the last minute, then took a deep breath and deepthroated Dean’s cock. His eyes filled, a few tears adding to what saliva was covering the lower half of his face. He swallowed hurridly, so he wouldn’t choke on Dean’s cum. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing to do, but the strangled cry he earned was worth it.

Dean was staring down at him, both of them panting, when Castiel pulled away. He glanced around, grabbing a tissue from a nearby box and wiped his face off a bit. Only when that was done did he lean up and lightly peck pretty pink lips.

“I love you, very much. So you’ll understand if I really would rather you didn’t make me kill you.”

Words were not Dean’s strong suit. He didn’t answer right away, though he did pull the owl down into a real kiss When they parted, he mumbled gruffly, “Love you too. Sorry I pissed you off.”

Castiel gave a soft snort, absently combing his fingers through dark blond hair. “You know precisely what I would actually do. Sam was the one this close to taking Baby to that middle school car wash.”

Dean’s eyes bulged, and he tried to lurch upright. “He _what?”_

Pushing his shoulders back down, Castiel scolded, “He will not be following through, the Impala is safe. Just…please don’t tempt him too much. Or me. He didn’t seem entirely opposed to being an only child when I suggested it yesterday.”

When he started to open his mouth, Castiel laid a hand over it to quiet him.

Leaning in, locking eyes with the older man, Castiel stated gently, “I know you like to play the class clown. I know you like to irk people. But I’ll thank you to limit how much of that you turn on us. I rather like the idea of exchanging sex for sanity. Everyone wins. Except perhaps Sam in the long term. Now do you want a bath before we go to bed?”

He started to take his hand away, but Dean caught it. Not meeting Castiel’s eyes, he brought his fingers to his lips. When he released it, he said gruffly, “Yeah. Pass me the crutches?”

It wouldn’t be much of a bath, they couldn’t get his cast wet, but Dean liked being clean and frankly they liked him clean when he got into bed. Castiel stood, passing him the crutches and hovering as he swung his way to the downstairs bathroom. Sam looked up from his tablet when he popped in to fetch clean clothes, raising his eyebrows. Lifting up one earpiece, he asked quietly, “Need some help?”

Castiel shook his head mutely, motioning for him to go back to his documentary, and puttered out. They would join him momentarily. Assuming Dean didn’t try to start another suds fight.

**THE END**


End file.
